


Hell Mouth

by fromunderthegaytree



Category: Nightcrawler (2014)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Obsessive Behavior, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromunderthegaytree/pseuds/fromunderthegaytree
Summary: Louis Bloom brings a wage, a reason to wake up at 9 at night and a new obsession.





	Hell Mouth

Los Angeles. Rick couldn't fathom why anybody with a sane mind, would want to go to L.A. Of course, it was romanticized. The Los Angeles people knew from Rom-Coms and songs was a warped version of its reality. Maybe people saw it as a getaway vacation destination, or a home but when he thought of L.A., he thought of long nights spent in alleyways, or awkward moments when he crashed on couches. 

Would this happen anywhere else? Maybe, but that wasn't the point. The point was that people wrote gushy ballads about the city of angels. The people that said L.A. welcomed anybody were the same ignorant morons that described America as the land of the free. Ever since Louis Bloom had employed him, he was forced to listen to the exact same drivel. That, or the other fun facts that he found on websites. But it was work. 

He didn't exactly adore the pay, which was criminally cheap. It was enough to pay for food, and enough to go towards a place of his own. Neither did he like what the job consisted of. Why couldn't he have a normal job? Taking orders, waiting tables and wiping down counters sounded like a dream when compared to giving directions then getting chastised. But what even kept him there? 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
They're sitting in Louis's car, waiting for something. Rick is waiting to go home, Louis is waiting for a police dispatch for a particularly gruesome crime. Around them, the day begins to die out. Rick glances at Louis for a moment, noticing how different his face looks with a stream of golden sunlight washing over it. There are small red bumps peeking out of his jaundiced face; hints of stubble, asking to be shaved and his smile wrinkles. It shouldn't be of any significance, but for Richard, it's a reminder that his employer is human, regardless of his robotic demeanour. 

"Nuthin's happenin'..." Rick mumbles, pulling his gaze away from Lou. With every passing minute, the nearby gas station's sign glows even more prominently with the approaching darkness. He hears a soft sigh from Louis, either agreeing with his statement or growing frustrated with Rick's pessimism. 

"Good things happen to those who wait and work hard, Richard." He doesn't look away from the windshield, hypnotized with it. "You need to learn how to be patient." Even with his high and mighty words, his tone grows worried. He's even more bothered by the lack of action than Richard. 

"Yeah..." he begins, hearing him speak, but not listening, "I'm gonna get some coffee." Without waiting Louis' answer, he shifts in his seat before grabbing the door handle. Before he can open the door, Louis grabs hold of his ratty hoodie. Ratty enough that the hood's fabric threatens to rip when a scrawny man tugs it. 

"Stop it." He keeps hold of Rick's sweatshirt, forcing him to look over his shoulder at him. His eyes bulge out of his head with aggravation which he keeps hidden under a cool mien. "You're on duty. No company wants to hire an employee who doesn't do their job when they're supposed to." His words fly out of his mouth; he's angry but doesn't want to show it. 

Suddenly aware of the palpable risk of getting fired, Rick lets go of the handle. 'Okay' is all he says. He doesn't want to lose his job, not today. Louis nods, thanking him, again and again. As if a flash of pure hatred did not spark in his eyes. Even with Lou relentlessly thanking him, he stares out at the store. His behaviour is shameful and childish in the way he sulks without word. 

His employer notices his crossed arms, folded over his chest as he reflects to himself. He wonders how soon it will be until he loses him as an employee. He was always a sucker, for taking on a piss-paying job, never seizing opportunities like he does. It doesn't matter if the man's a fool, Louis knows that even somebody as despairing as Rick has standards. It wouldn't be a problem if he knew he could replace him. 

"Richard," he begins, his unblinking eyes loll over slowly. Rick goes to open his mouth, his crooked teeth peeking in the gap as he thinks to correct him. Rick - not Richard. Louis- not Lou. But he doesn't. "Richard, I want to tell you how much of a valuable asset you can be when you put your mind to it." His smile begins to spread, the corner of his lips rising up his cheeks. It's the smile that sometimes unnerves Rick, how forced it looks as if every ounce of strength was put into it. This time, the smile doesn't disturb him. In fact, he finds it rather reassuring. 

Like a child who receives words of praise from a highly-regarded parent, Rick smiles to himself. "You r'lly think so?" So used to Louis' hurtful remarks, the suggestion of a compliment captures his amusement. He isn't exactly naive, but he is oblivious to Lou's cunning ways of keeping him. 

"Yes, I really think so. You've helped me plenty of times. You showed yourself as an amazing employee with, of course, room for advancement." He answers, feeding fuel to the fire which was Rick's hunger for validation. Rick isn't aware that he needs it, but he loves the feedback. It was its own kind of currency which he yearned for. 

"You're sayin' that I could get promoted soon?" 

"That's... exactly what I'm saying." He looks at him, his face basking in shadows. His eyes were still apparent in the darkness, shiny like cueballs. That signature smile still caught onto his face. For the first time in awhile, Rick thinks he may not be a complete demon. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What d'you think of LA?" 

It's a busy Saturday night and they've finished their work. The red mustang is zooming on the highway, revving in a dangerous fashion. People from the other end of the city could probably hear its roar. The question which Rick dares to ask correlates with the fact that he filmed a crying child. There had been an immense auto-wreck in Cypress park where a Buick collided with the tail of a Ford. There was nothing but shreds of metal, the thick stench of burning tires and licking flames. The kid's mom had died, and this little girl, barely six years old, was bawling. Richard asks Louis this question because he can't stop thinking about how happier he'd be anywhere else.

"I think it's a wonderful place for opportunity." Louis answers, not giving him a glance. With his hair tied back, and a glare on his face, it was evident that he's focused on other troubles. 

"You know, making me film that kid was fucked..." It's a long jump from asking about the city to accusing him of immorality. But, it has to be said, or else, Rick won't be able to sleep at night. The image of that girl's face, mouth contorted to scream and her eyes squeezed shut as tears streak her face, it flashes in Rick's mind. He's sick. 

"I'm sorry you feel that way but if you want to keep this job, I'm afraid you'll have to do things that you won't want to do." His voice is unexpectedly soft, like he was born to speak on television or to create audiobooks. His voice is assuring, in the way he insists that his job depended on that shot of the little girl. "It'll definitely shock people." 

He tries to listen to Lou, but he cannot. While he talks, the ghost of her face haunts the confines of his mind. That shriek that made his heart stop. Slumping against his seat, he feels his stomach twist and ache. "I think I'm gunna be sick..." He draws in heavy breaths, desperately bringing air to his lungs in order to pull him away from his damning thoughts. "Oh, god, stop the car, I'm gunna puke." 

Please, please, let me out of the car.

"Calm down!" Louis shouts, looking over at his ill friend, finally driving his eyes away from the road. "You're having a panic attack," he concludes with a hint of panic, attempting to supervise his employee's mental breakdown while driving. Unable to pull over on the highway, he glances at the nearest exit. Rick pushes his nails into the leather seat, feeling the material evoke the smallest bit of pain on each finger. The world disappears when he squeezes his eyes shut, and all he can see are his eyelids but the sounds still attack him. The roar of rushing cars, of Lou trying to assure him and of his own laboured breathing - they make him ill. 

Soon enough, Lou pulls into a McDonald's parking lot. The second he parks the car, Rick throws himself out of the vehicle onto his hands and knees. And right there, next to the tires, he hunches over and vomits. He feels the harsh corrosive acid burn his nostrils as the oily remains of his meals evacuate through his mouth and nose. Louis winces at the sound of the liquid hitting the pavement, and silently prays that it doesn't touch his car. He walks over just as his partner gets back onto his feet. He pays the vomit a glance as it streams into the sewer grate, smelling the foul odour of it. 

Rick stays quiet for a moment, blows his nose, spits... then he cries. He turns into himself, crumpling like a rag-doll as he begins to cry. 

Boo-hoo-hoo... Rick thinks to himself with self-disgust.

To his complete surprise, Louis doesn't yell at him. He doesn't hear about how awful it is that they had to pull over. There's nothing about getting ahold of his emotions, and for that, Rick is grateful. But that gratitude is buried underneath those visions, the kind of images that Nina will eat up. His bony fingers grab his shoulder, the rough skin of his fingertips gliding across the nape of his neck.

The feeling the sensation conjures up is unfamiliar to Rick. He feels a terrible mixture of fear, contempt and attraction. When he identifies these emotions, he shakes off Louis' hold. His shoulders shrug erratically and he takes a step away. Why was he trying to hold him? This man, nothing close to a sympathetic being, was trying to comfort him after throwing him into that situation. He told him: Richard, take a shot of that girl.

Pig, monster, two-faced...

"You made me do this!" He accuses, whipping his head around so he can look at him. The arm that Rick shook off stays lifted in the air. While the McDonald's sign projects an egg yolk yellow onto his face, his glassy eyes stare with that unmoving hint of a smile. He reminds Richard of a wax figurine, something trying to impersonate a human. "You made me film her..." He mumbles, slumping against the car. He doesn't care if Lou has any qualms about it, he wants to be freed from this job. 

"I didn't make you do anything." He tells him, and what Rick hates the most is that he's right. There's nothing keeping him there. He complains, he accuses but there isn't any laws that keep him from saying 'I quit'. So, Rick looks at him, imagining himself saying those words. In his head, he repeats it. The mantra that he wants to say aloud. All he needed to do was open his mouth, breathe out two syllables and seek liberation. If only it were that easy. 

"Okay." 

"Now, get back in the car. I'll drop you off." Louis returns to the driver's side of the vehicle, relieved that he hadn't stemmed a massive argument. Rick steps away from the car, wobbling on his feet as he backs away. He can't. 

"No, I'm sorry." He can't bring himself to sit in that car while he thinks about quitting but not being able to. He'd rather sit around in a McDonald's, buy some coffee and scan the newspapers for another job. One that doesn't involve filming grieving children. 

"I have to go sell the footage, if any more time passes, my footage will have less market value. Let's go." There's an inkling of impatience in Lou's voice, as though the whole confrontation has stripped his walls away. Without a disguise, Richard can spot the primal look in his eyes. He is an unhinged lunatic, and Rick knows he'll attack given any moment. 

"No, okay? I need... time to think." He begins walking towards the entrance of restaurant. He dreams of greasy fries, syrupy cola and tangy sauces and the warm interior of McDonald's. The ambience of occasional beeping, chatter and laughter, he shivers at the thought. He cannot abide another minute with somebody as crazy as Lou. 

"Richard!" He shouts, that typically soft voice finally straining into something akin to a threat. He's a dark silhouette beside his car, and Rick feels relief because he doesn't have to see that anger on his face. He wonders how rage takes form on his face, not minor annoyance, true unfiltered wrath. He doesn't want to stay around long enough to see it so he disappears into the establishment. Through the window, he watches that shadow get into the car before its drives into the night.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It seems as though Richard's life has been changing for better or for worse. It's not just the factors around him that slowly change. After that one night, it all seemed normal, fine. When he returned to that slum of an apartment, it was alright. He was safe, and everything would return to normal. He lied to himself. Nothing's been the same since.

When he shuts his eyes, there's the memory of the morning news, replaying the footage. The one which anchors gasp over, they begin to shake their head and sympathize - but, imagine being the one who filmed it. If given the chance to travel back in time, he'd jump at the opportunity, and he'd stand up for himself for the first time in his life. But the universe doesn't work like that, and the universe doesn't play for. 

Images of his employer pop into his head. Stoic, angry and sometimes kind. It's the combination of the two, and the implication of the latter which fuels a curiosity. Rick finds it difficult to not think about him, about the rare times he's been human. An idealized version of Louis has been created by the glimpses of humanity which he exhibits. Then there's the faint memory of his fingers grazing his neck which evokes nothing but confused reactions. He tries to think about him in moderation, like a drunk drinking mini-bar sized bottles of liquor instead of the whole bottle. But, in the end, he's enabling that compulsion to fantasize about somebody he shouldn't be fantasizing about. But he doesn't love him, god, no. He finds himself despising that face of his, and the way he talks down to him. He makes him angry, and his chest always begins to burn whenever he thinks too hard about all the wrongdoing he's done. Rick is suddenly five years old, shaking with rage because a teacher's told him to calm down, but simultaneously, he needs to impress them. 

What has become of him?

One morning, Rick finds it near impossible to get up. Crawling out of bed seems like a tedious task, and he doesn't know what's causing it. He doesn't feel depressed, he knows what it's like. The moment you open your eyes, you begin to cry because you're suddenly hit with a wave of existential inquietude. But, no, he thinks about work. He thinks about the lottery which is his job. Will Lou praise him? Offer that soft, scholarly smile while discussing the possibility of a raise? Or will he berate him? Remind him of the small faults he commits, and the likelihood that he will be fired? It's something he's afraid to risk, and something that used to worry him so little has become the main source of his anxiety. 

Still lying on his mattress, he feels the sun's beams drown his body in their warmth. The window offers a blinding light, signalling the start of a new day, and the cue for Rick move on. He stirs for awhile, moving about his mattress while the events of last night wriggle about in his mind. Everything might be identical to how things were since his breakdown, his realization, but he knows there's a difference. There is a shift within himself which disturbs his capability to work without worry.

Finally, he pushes himself onto his feet. He decides to perform what psychologists call 'mindfulness'. Living in the movement, savouring each taste, sight and sound and acting as though you're experiencing life for the first time. When Rick read that in a magazine, he thought it was bogus, but now, it's the only way to survive. He takes small steps to the washroom, staring at its small door - a slivering wood and a dirty white paint coat - it is difficult to be mindful, but he has to try. For the rest of his morning, he adopts this way of living. It still doesn't work. In his shower, he mentally compares the freezing water to Lou's cold fingers. He eats his oatmeal, he drinks his coffee and he watches traffic outside. He's not rich enough to simply press a button on a remote control just to watch whatever junk Hollywood churns out. He stares out of the window, through the film of dirt just to stare at SUVs, taxis, trucks and muscle cars while pushing the thoughts of Lou out of his head. 

After the beauty of an LA morning has vanished, Rick walks down the street. He passes the stores, glancing so often into these establishments. He sees the people, conversing with each other, looking at things and they're smiling. All of these smiles are products of happiness, and they arrive naturally. Why can't Louis smile like that? Why can't Rick? Is happiness just something that's decided not to touch them? 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That's a perfect shot." Louis tells him. They're standing right outside of Rick's apartment, leaning against the car. He's showing him the footage of three hispanic men, all lying on the concrete with gaping bullet holes in their face, a pool of blood leaking from underneath them as it dyes all of their clothes. It's gruesome, and it makes Rick feel nauseous but the compliment does something to him. His pulse comes fast - morse code in his throat. 

"You think so?" Why can't he accept his compliment? Why does skepticism bring a resolve to Rick? One that intends to shout at Louis, to accuse him of being a dirty liar, and to tell him how often Rick thinks of him, only to end up either hating him or loving him. But, he's not doing any of these, he's staring at the shiny holes in those heads. Louis sighs, and blast of air cools his neck and chills his spirit. 

"Yes, but you know what you could do better next time?" He begins to ramble, and there's sounds leaving his mouth but Rick cannot comprehend any of it. "Are you listening to me?" He speaks, pulling him from his thoughts. Turning around, Louis' face takes form in his peripherals until he's facing him. 

"I'm thinking of finding another job," he admits, watching his employer's face sour with disappointment. He can't hide that from him, no matter how skilled he is at concealing his emotions. "I don't think this job's right for me." He isn't lying, it isn't right for him - and neither is Louis - but it doesn't matter what's the cause of his malaise. He needs to leave, he can't let himself work for dirt cheap and in return, he gets to be haunted. 

Louis thinks, and unbeknownst to Rick, he reflects on ways to keep him on his side. How can he convince him to continue working for him? Employees wouldn't be a problem to find, after all, it was Los Angeles. Jobs are in high demand, and he can serve them exactly what they want. Then, he imagines how much they'd ask for. Anybody other than Rick would be asking for minimum wage - what a nightmare, what a threat to his business. Unresponsive, he worries Rick who takes a few steps back. "I'm gunna go now, it's not official but... I'll let'cha know." He leaves the camera on the car's hood, and turns for the entrance. 

"Can I come in?" Louis asks, grabbing the camera before following Rick up the brick stoop. 

"I..." He's rendered Rick completely baffled, and terrified. Why would he come into his apartment? He would grab his fish shaped lamp, smash it over his skull. Then he'd look like those men on the footage they collected. Just as he nears the brink of saying 'no', flashes of idealistic scenarios where Louis kisses him in the dimness of his apartment cross his train of thought. Maybe neither of those things would happen but it couldn't hurt him. "Okay." 

Once they reach his apartment, he unlocks the door and lets Louis take a gander at his home. Quiet as a field mouse, he turns on the light and ventures further into the den. "Uh... do you need something to eat? Something to drink?" Even if he said 'yes', all Rick could provide would be some instant noodles, meals in a box or TV dinners. Of course, Louis declines the offer - does he ever eat? 

If it were anyone else, Rick would've gotten a pitifully false compliment, a desperate observation about the thrift store decor scattered about his apartment, but it's Louis Bloom in his apartment so he doesn't get anything. He stands in front of his window, looking at the stark reflection of himself. Behind him, Louis stares at him, with lemur eyes and a patient posture. And as if he was reading his mind, he clears his throat before asking him, "why do you want to quit?" The question shouldn't stun him, especially since he was expecting it, but his lips feel blubbery and his muscles ache whilst his heart sinks. 

After what feels like an eternity's worth of silence combined with a symphony of buzzing from the refrigerator and the upstairs neighbours' arguing, Louis stumbles through his words, asking, "is it the pay? Are you dissatisfied with your current wage?" His eyes widen, staring at his back. Richard couldn't be more glad that he is looking at only the simple reflection of him, and not actually at him. He wouldn't have the courage, he'd cave into whatever plans Louis has for him as an employee. "Is that what's bothering you? Because if it is, I'm not going to give my employees a raise just because he's sulking." His tone begins to rise, and his jaundice face is beginning to redden. 

"No, it's not the fuckin' money-it's not." Though the pay is a joke, and he can barely afford rent for his home-sweet-tenement, that isn't the exact source of his problem. He wants him to leave, but Louis stands up, evoking a sense of relief in Rick that he's decided to storm out. Instead, he begins approaching him, slow steps that are meant to intimidate, to scare-and it works, Rick's scared out of his mind. He continues walking, his eyes are no longer fixed on his back but right on the window. He is staring right at Rick through his reflection, reminding him that it was only an illusion of safety. "It's not money, I swear," he croaks, bowing his head. 

Keep strong, don't break.

"Then, Richard, what is it?" He doesn't lay a hand on him, not even a finger but, in some strange way, he compels the man to turn around and look at him. He's so much closer now, with that long face watching him. His eyes look even more feverish up-close, the entire unhinged mien to him is amplified at this distance. "What?" He waits for Rick to answer, and slowly, he looks up at him. They hold each other's gaze for a second, but Rick feels as though he's being interrogated for a crime he's guilty of. In his antsy brown eyes, a flash of yearning appears. Still, it's only a sliver of a clue of what he truly feels for Lou. Regardless of how small it is, Louis catches it. Just like he's understood the punchline to a joke, he starts thinking about all the weird behaviour he exhibited in the past months. He's in love, Louis realizes, and that the only thing that'll keep him is his serving his heart on a platter. 

"You're attracted to me."

"No, I'm not-christ, what the fuck's your deal?" He continues to shuffle slightly, the way his sneakers move against the floor is impatient, skittery and nervous. He speaks angrily, spitting every word as though they were blades crafted to stun. But, Louis isn't oblivious to the fact that he refuses to look at him. 

"Richard, you're in denial." He insists, speaking over the frustrated chuckles Rick laughs out. He's trying to make him look like a fool for even suggesting this attraction. But, he's the liar. He reaches out, and the tips of his fingertips graze the nape of his neck-just like that one night. Except, this time, instead of that miscellany of opposing feelings, he lets down his guard, and decides not to configure those emotions into one. 

Just let 'em happen, he thinks to himself. 

Richard's posture slackens, and he looks at Louis. Peering into his eyes, what artists call 'windows', he looks for something. Love, lust, hate, something...He cannot find anything. Is Louis smart enough to lock him out of his thoughts? Or is nobody really home? His fingers, slide from his neck before arriving to his cheek. A shovel-like hand holds onto his face, restraining his head right where it is. His face comes closer, and closer. Like looking through a magnifying glass, everything about him makes Rick realize how ugly and beautiful humans really are. The gentle wrinkles beginning to form, the faint blemish scars and the spot he missed when he was shaving, flaws which when paired with his genteel smile, and azure blue eyes that make Richard think of days on a beach, create an illusion of normalcy. Then, these features which he's fallen in love with disappear once Lou kisses him. 

The kiss is vaguely unpleasant at first, it feels uncomfortable. But once he shakes the indecrulous shock away, he kisses back. For a few minutes, their kissing, initially comparable to middle schooler's first kiss shifts into the kind of affection which Richard would hate if anyone else was doing it. Rick, a deep sea diver coming back up for air, pulls away from his hold just to regain his breath. His lips are chapped, the skin deprived of any comfort, tells Richard to get a drink of water. He walks over to the kitchenette, and he fills a glass with glacier cold water. 

"Is something wrong?" Louis asks, walking over. Unlike Rick, he isn't panting as though he ran a marathon. Casting him a glance, Rick's stomach twinges with worry, a discomfort which stems from the sight of him. He downs the water, and refills it. "You kissed me back, Richard." 

"I just..." He sighs, setting the glass down, "I feel guilty." The kiss might've been the best experience other than the time he was hired for landscaping, but he's left with these stomach-churning sensations. It's his body, telling him what he's doing is wrong. He's taking advantage of Louis, and it's an odd thought, especially because he didn't initiate the kiss. Besides, he doesn't like men, not like how he loves women. Then, what is this obsession Louis conjures? What if he's feeling something entirely different for Louis, something entirely different from love? He looks at him, without needing to gander at the floor, he's bolder now, "I think you gotta go."

"I don't think you want that." Louis insinuates, heading over to the sink. Standing beside him, his spindly arms thrust into the sink before he begins washing the glass Rick set down. "Let's go to bed."

"What?" The suggestion slaps a dumbfounded look onto Rick's face, as he stares at him, slack-jawed. "No, just leave." 

"But you don't want that." He's right, he has no idea what he needs, and what he wants. But, he knows if Louis leaves, he won't feel this accumulating pressure weighing down on his shoulders. He grabs Rick's arm, and begins leading him away from the counter. He isn't pulling hard, but the younger man's fingers grip down onto the counter to anchor himself. He isn't pulling anymore, but looking at Rick expectantly. His heart races, and he's left with another hard decision to make. He lets go of the counter and follows Louis into his bedroom. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At around three in the morning, Rick slips back into consciousness. He's groggy, and still piecing together the fragments of his dreams. A family trip with his parents, and while their faces were blurred by the deterioration of his memory, he was able to recall the Pasadena City Hall. A tall white building, with a large red dome at its peak, it reminded him of roman cupolas. While clutching onto the pleasantness of his dream, he notices a lump beside him. The streetlights from outside pierce through his window, and reveals who's lying next to him. 

Louis. His dream is replaced with the memories of the night before. The rapid succession of mental images, like a flickering movie, assures him that he kissed him, among other things. They really did sleep together, and Richard remembers how nerve-wracked he was through the entire duration of it. Just like work, Louis was a nitpicky about the things he did, too. Thoughts of Lous' neck tendons straining make him giddy and red-faced. Chuckling to himself, he drapes an arm over his brow. Next to him, the blankets shift, sliding off of Louis' shoulders as he turns to look at him. "Go to bed." 

Pointing out his hypocrisy, Richard gives him a funny look. "You're awake." He looks at his sunken bare chest; his sleep deprived eyes, which are nothing but slits and an irritated frown. They look at each other, and slowly, Rick begins to smile. He's beaming because he's realizing that he really does love him. He squirms a little, moving over to clasp his arms around his lanky body and to press his head against his chest. "I love you." It's the first time he's admitting it, but it feels right. Louis' arms reach around before hugging him close. Still cranky and still tired, he tells him again to 'just go to sleep'. But, Richard can't. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next few months are full of the same routine. They usually go to Rick's apartment, eat and drink whatever garbage he can find before going to work until it's time to drive to either one's house before going to sleep. It's a simple schedule, but for Richard, it's all he can ask for. When they eat at his house, Louis often comments on the state of his apartment. He suggests that he rents something a little nicer than the dump he resides in. He isn't wrong either, Rick fantasizes about living in a one-story home, something with a front yard, anything he can put his time and effort into. His dreams of suburbia involve his boyfriend, right there at his side as they move into one place together. He never mentions these fantasies, and understands that it's better to keep some things from him. Whenever Louis complains about the lack of hot water, or the crack in the window or the buzzing of the fridge, the subject of raises are always brought up. This usually kills his complaining for awhile. When they work, Richard is ordered around just as harshly as before. What did he expect? He has to admit, he believed that it would all change once they entered a relationship together. He was wrong, and Louis believes that it's important to keep work and personal affairs separate. 

After one particular impersonal comment on filming a drive-by shooting, Rick remains silent as they drive to sell the footage. Even with Louis as a companion, he hasn't found the ability to become blasé. And Lou hasn't changed either... He doesn't understand how different Louis is when they work, it's like a mask he puts on. As soon as he starts the car, it's business. There isn't any discussion permitted about their relationship, there's no physical affection, there isn't anything. He shuts off the faucet of his love, and becomes callous and indifferent to Richard's feelings. Because after all, he's not just his boyfriend, he's his employee. 

The mustang stops right in front of the news station, and as the engine still runs, Rick asks him to kiss him. Nothing big, just a small peck on the cheek-something to tell him that he still loves him-it's a shameful desire, wanting to be loved. He wants him to hold him just like he does in his living room, with his skinny arms pulling him close and his sharp, angular chin pressing into the top of his head. He doesn't want to be loved for a few hours, and then cast aside whenever his shift begins or when the sun rises, which Louis takes as a sign to sleep, work and devote time to his craft and to himself. He wants to be loved all the time, not just for a few hours. 

"Do you love me?" He asks him, his voice growing brittle and muddy with wretchedness. It's a silly question, or that's what Louis thinks as he glares at him. It's a repulsed look, one that he should be sporting if he was smelling hot garbage, not if he was hearing the word 'love'. 

"Richard," is all he replies, warning him on the subject, telling him to let it drop before venturing too far into the sensitive topic. "You know what we discussed?" As long as they were in the car, there was to be no mention of love, hatred, jealousy, sympathy or anything that doesn't have anything to do with work. 

"I know. But it's fuckin' stupid. It's a stupid fuck-ing rule." Louis takes offence to this remark, his mouth withers into a big frown, creasing wrinkles into his skin, and his eyes widen until they gain the appearance of a guppy's.

"I think it's reasonable."

"Because you made it. N' you never asked me about what I want."

It's an argument that renders Louis silent. There's the unmistakable desire to gloat over his baffledness, to laugh right in his face, but Rick only looks away from him. When he glances at him, his heart stops. Without words, he's looking at him with what seems worse than contempt. Something harsher than hate - that's what Louis feels for him. And it's all written on his face, guppy eyes shining with hubris and malign, nostrils flaring with every fuming breath he takes. Rick fears that this sight, of Louis, will be his last before his head gets smashed into the dashboard. It's no joke either, he wonders if he should escape the car. He begins to cower into the car-door, feeling the grip dig into his upper back. 

"Just stay in the car." He spits, pointing at Rick with one trembling finger. He leaves the car, SD card in hand, using the other to slam the door shut. Once he disappears into the building, Rick contemplates picking up his smoking habit. Oh, he could go for a cigarette... He holds his hands in front of him, watching them dance and shake with tremors. Nice and smoothing Pall Malls, pulling him through the anxiety; overly sweet and delicious Ho hos, saturated with icing and chocolate and the rich smokiness of whiskey - the thoughts lull him into a temporary state of tranquility.

After the comfort subsides, he realizes that Louis has been gone for more than a half hour. Was this his idea of payback? Dragging on the negotiations, maybe strolling around the place and talking to news anchors all in order to drive Rick insane? He's sick of the games, and tired of his piss poor mood. He steps out of the car, and begins his journey to the bus station. When he gets to station, he observes all the people around him. These strangers that only amplify his loneliness, but remind him... he isn't alone in this world. 

Hours later, he wakes up in his apartment to the sound of knocking. No... Not knocking, it sounds as though somebody's putting a hammer to his door. He knows it's Louis at the door, hitting away like a lunatic, just because he left the mustang unlocked and unoccupied. Something must've been stolen, the car itself or maybe some of the cameras. He considers answering the door, and imagines the violent rage he'd be putting himself to. A terrible nosebleed, a hit to the windpipe and Louis' worst reprimanding yet. He wraps his head with a pillow, muffling the jack-hammer sounds that'll surely awaken everyone in the building, and drifts back into sleep. 

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The next day, they're back in front of the station. They sit in his car, the one that hadn't been stolen or stolen from, and they look forward. Rick's so exhausted, he thinks he's close to fainting. A migraine throbs in his head, reminding Richard of the times he's been hungover, which he isn't. They sit, listening to the music of LA during its nocturnal hours. Louis closes his eyes, laying his head back against the headrest while admiring the sound of cars honking and roaring in the distance. Rick can't express his disgust at his blind devotion to LA, regardless of all of the crimes they witness on a daily basis. It's childish, this pick and choose view that he's adopted. But, what he hates the most, is what he tells him next: "come inside with me."

They walk into the establishment, Louis is suddenly, all smiles and laughs. The memory of that unhinged maniac hasn't vanished from Rick's thoughts, even when he's waving at people. He greets them on a first name basis, inquiring them on the well-being of their kids, how their vacation was and if they had recently lost weight. He introduces Rick to them, only sharing his name, and their relationship as a professional partnership within his video production business. He never expected him to display their relationship, yet that doesn't prevent disappointment from swelling in his chest. He speaks, and speaks and speaks but doesn't mention anything from the night before. Not even a lick of passive aggressiveness about the unanswered door, something that Rick wishes he brought up.

He's brought to a room which, aside from its bright screens showcasing footage, is overall dim. Right near this mash of television footage, is a woman. She turns her head, spots Louis, and smiles. She's beautiful, and looks incredibly healthy for someone for her age. She holds herself with an air of sophistication, by how she dresses and styles her hair with a side of know-how and ruthlessness. She's somebody that Richard would admire, or speak to if it weren't for the fact that Louis steps a little too close to her. 

He isn't some jealous dog, afraid its owner might spend a little too much attention on some other animal. He can withstand all of the friendliness Lou exhibits for everyone else but him. He watches her smile nervously, and he can tell she's afraid of Bloom - just like himself. He looks at her in such a predatory way that even buzzards would look like tame sheep in comparison. 

"This is Nina Romina." 

"Hello." She says, "you're..." 

"Rick. Louis Bloom's employee."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They're about to enter Louis' home, which greets Rick like a hell mouth. A sweltering, and dreadful entrance to something he's truly afraid of. What is it? He doesn't know... He stands still, and waits for Louis to press his hand to the small of back. He waits for a kiss of encouragement, and reminder that their relationship, albeit dysfunction is existent. His body stays untouched while Louis steps into the doorway. 

"You're fuckin' her." He croaks, acknowledging the fact as it stings him. He doesn't need any shitty excuse to reassure him that he's still loved, he knows that he's been thrown aside. 

"Yes." Louis doesn't try to deny it, choosing to freeze Rick with an unforgivable truth instead of comforting him with a lie. Rick wants Louis to say otherwise, even if it's fallacy. There's something beautiful about living in ignorance of harm. 

"I gave you all my time, and I fucked you. I... turned down a job opportunity just to be lied to. Tell me, please, tell me the truth, did you actually like me?" He begins to cry, as repugnant as it is to show him his pain, he can't help it. His mouth levels out into a hideous grimace which catch droplets of tears that stream from his eyes. 

Even in darkness, Rick sees his mouth prim up. There's no expression on his face that divulges any remorse for the things he did. "No, not really."

"Why'd you do it?" 

"I didn't want to lose you as an employee."

He tries to think of what to say. He wants to hurt him just as badly as he's been hurt. But no words come to mind, and there's no desire to attack him. There's only this desperate need to be held and kissed that clings onto the forefront of his thinking. "I quit, then." 

Louis begins to shut the door, forcing Rick out of his life. Without any hint of smugness, he smiles, "you won't." He closes the door, leaving him with nothing but the sounds of his own sniffling, and a now-gaping hole Louis leaves empty. 

And he's right, he won't.


End file.
